


Lost in Darkness

by Airmyplane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Darkness, Depression, Family Drama, Hospital, Hurt, Insomnia, John Watson - Freeform, Lost - Freeform, Love, M/M, Mind Palace, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Nightmares, Romance, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, scared, somniphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmyplane/pseuds/Airmyplane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is broken and depressed. Haunted by the nightmares of his mind palace. He has become a prisoner of his own mind, and now John has to help him escape it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

* * *

 _It was dark, in the middle of the night. Sherlock came slendering down the side road, once in awhile being shown in the dark by the street lights shining over him._  
_There was no cars to be seen, not a single person. How he got there, who couldn’t really remember, he had just gone for a walk alone, just to sort of clear his mind, a way he couldn’t when he played the violin._  
_He remembered that he took a cab out at the edge of London, so he wouldn’t be bothered by the people passing the streets, and the noise that would come from the cars. He sort of missed the sound, and then again he didn’t. He was just so used to hearing the busy road on Baker Street. But this time, he needed to be alone._

  
_He just began walking, and walking, and walking, not really knowing where to go. And he had no idea where he had ended up, he just knew, he had been walking for quite a while. His feet were cold, and his legs were tired._  
_He missed John, something just didn’t feel right when the man wasn’t beside him. Nothing ever felt right, when he wasn’t there. He had made that conclusion quite clear with himself._  
_He wanted to turn back, and catch a cabbie once he got closer to town, so that he could see John's face again, but it was like his body wouldn’t let him. Like he was being drawn by something, but exactly what, he couldn’t figure out. His feet just wouldn’t stop carrying his body farer away from the city._  
_He tugged his coat tighter around him, when a sudden cold laid over his body. The trees across the road were swaying in the wind. Another street light._  
_A loud noise made him turn around, but nothing was there. It sounded almost like a grin or a distant laugh. He tried to step into the light, but he still couldn’t see anything. Not a single soul. He really wanted to get home, it felt like something was wrong._

  
_Suddenly all the streetlights he had passed burst sparks before turning into cold darkness. One after one, getting closer to him. A sudden panic look took over him, but then he turned forward, and looked up at the light he was standing under. It was blinking. Until suddenly, it stopped, and burst._

  
**_***_**

  
_Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were blurry, and he couldn’t see anything. He was freezing, numb because of the cold. His vision started to unblur so he could see something. It was very dark, still in the middle of the night._  
_He was laying on the cold ground, with his face touching the cold and wet ground. He raised his head a bit, to look around. His eyes traced the ground until he saw outside. It was pouring down rain. He lifted his head a bit more, supporting with hands, raising his upper body a bit._

  
_He was in some sort of tunnel, it was out to a small road with a hill behind it, behind that road he could see a river flowing. ‘What happened?’ He thought to himself._  
_He was scared, not knowing where he was. ‘Did he pass out?..But how did he get here?’ The thoughts kept coming, in the unknown situation he tried to raise his body so that he could stand up. But he regretted that decision when a sudden sharp pain shot through his leg. He yelled out in agonizing pain, and looked down at his leg._

 _It was almost too dark to see anything, so he took his hand down to where it hurt, and was met with something wet and sticky. He took his hand back, and looked at it. He furrowed his eyebrows together with the sight. Blood. His mouth was slightly gaping._  
_He crawled over to the sidewall of the tunnel, and tried his best to sit up, and rest his head up against the wall. He looked over the river, hoping that someone would drive down the road and find him._

  
_He began shaking violently, On the verge of tears._  
_‘Where was he?’_  
_It has begun to rain more. His chest barely made it through with taking breaths because of the feelings overwhelming him, he just couldn’t take it. He screamed as a lightning stroke in the distant, and made a loud noise. His scream echoed in the valley, intensifying the power of it. He let the tears roll down his cheeks, as just as that, everything went silent._  
_His body fell against the wall, out of any energy that could have been left. The detective just had a distant and scared look out upon the river, wanting nothing more but to return home. The tears kept streaming down his face, as all the sounds faded. He couldn’t stop shaking._

  
_Suddenly a weak and distant voice sounded, but he couldn’t quite hear it. A noise came from behind, and all the sounds returned._  
_Sherlock turned around, even though it hurt like never before. There was just darkness. He furrowed his eyebrows, but then a person stepped out of the dark, a person he didn’t recognize at first._  
_The person pulled out a gun, and pointed at Sherlock at first, then he lifted it, and fired,_  
~~_“Sherlock”_~~  
_then Sherlock screamed as the bullet made it’s way, not at him, but at the person standing next to him._  
_“John..” he whispered, and more tears rolled down his face as the body fell-_  
~~_“Sherlock”_~~  
_to the floor right next to him, he tried to climb over to him, but he was too weak to move at all._  
_“No. No. No.. John, John please no..” The detective cried out-_  
~~_“Sherlock”_~~  
_“Please don’t be dead”_  
_He screamed and screamed his heart out_  
_“SHERLOCK!”_

_\--------------------------------------------------_

 

Sherlock woke up screaming, gasping for air. Everything he saw was white and blurry at first, but then his vision started to unblur, and he saw the familiar ceiling he was facing. He followed some trails in the wood, but then he looked over to the side, with a vulnerable look, when a familiar voice called out his name.

There was tears in Sherlock’s eyes, as he saw the man sitting next to him. He sat next to the couch, while the detective was laying down. 

John was looking softly at Sherlock. Though there was sadness to be seen in his eyes.

Sherlock was shaking violently, confused and lightheaded. He glanced at the Doctors features when he tried to reach out for him. He wanted to touch the skin of him, to let him know that this is real, that isn't a dream. He wanted Sherlock to know, that he was right here with him. 

 

“W-Wha-” His voice was trembling

“It’s all right Sherlock.. It was just a dream. Everything’s alr-”

“John” he whispered, John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand in his, when he saw how hard it was shaking.

“Shh.. Don’t say anything. Relax, love.”

The detective stopped shaking, and felt safe for once in a long time.

Sherlock had caught the word _love_ being spoken by the lips of John, it made him feel warm inside, but he ignored that feeling. It couldn't be, he just said it accidentally. Besides, Sherlock wasn't in his right mind, he could be saying it to calm him down.

John looked with such worry and sadness in his eyes, as he stared into the confused and distant eyes of the man facing him. 

He had been out of himself when he heard Sherlock screaming. It wasn’t the first time.

His heart ached every time. He didn’t want to face it, but the person he cared the most about, was hurting. And he did no longer know what do to. He was scared that what he might do, would hurt Sherlock even more. He would never ever hurt Sherlock. He wouldn't forgive himself if he did.

But it hurt the doctor watching him become more isolated, and distant. It hurt watching _him_ hurt. John sighed heavily.

He stroke Sherlock’s hand fondly. Following every crooked path on his palms. Then soon enough he began drawing small circles with the tip of his finger.  Sherlock slowly closed his eyes, resting his head on the pillow underneath his head. 

John just watched him with passion, and a sparkling love in his eyes. He watched how his chest moved up and down, how he inhaled and exhaled. He watched how peaceful his face looked, like he wasn't hurting at all. It gave the Doctor an inner hope, even though he knew it was his imagination trying to trick him into believing Sherlock was fine, when he knows that he is far from fine. 

He watched the man lying next to him with grace. He looked so peaceful, but he knew to the war going on inside of Sherlock's head. He knew how sadness looked, when you looked closely into the persons eyes. He has been fighting a war of his own, after serving in the military service in Afghanistan.

He always knew this was the side of the detective people never get to see, the vulnerable side of him, the human side.

That was what John loved the most about him. That even though he can deduce almost everything about you, an be Ice cold, he cares. He has feelings, that he won't show to people, other than John, and maybe his elder brother Mycroft. That even he 'The high functioning sociopath' cares. 

John was just stroking Sherlock's hand fondly over and over again.

Sherlock made a sudden sound of discomfort, which immediately caught John’s attention. Sherlock was furrowing his eyebrows, and tightening his chest. He began panting, while writhing in pain. John stopped holding his hand, when the detective clinched his fist.

He sort of whimpered. Sherlock shut open his eyes, and sat up, staring scared out in the blue. He yelled out in agonizing pain, and John was quickly over by his side.

“Sherlock, Sherlock tell me where it hurts,”

The doctor was scared, when he watched the detective not giving him a single look, like he simply wasn't there. 

Sherlock’s body began shaking, and he whimpered, closing his eyes in pain. Sherlock fell back on the couch. The man could barely breathe, he was hyperventilating. 

John didn’t know what was happening. He was terrified by the sudden change of his company by Sherlock. 

“Sherlock please answer me”

John began panicking as he saw the other man's body in pain, writhing and shaking.

“Stop it.. Stop it, stop stop MAKE IT STOP!” Sherlock yelled, his eyes were still closed, but solid tears made it’s way down his cheeks. Sherlock took both his hands, and held them in front of his face, like trying to protect himself from something. He wasn't writhing anymore, he was hyperventilating and shaking, whimpering 'Stop' constantly.

The whole scenario was scarring John, as Sherlock was hurting more than he already did. 

 

 

John stood up to reach his phone in his pockets, and typed in a number with shaky hands. He could barely hold it together.

He had a lump in his throat.

“Mycroft? You need to come… something’s wrong with Sherlock.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I had made a mistake in this chapter, but it is fixed not. I'm sorry xx

Mycroft burst through the front door to 221b, as you could hear Mrs. Hudson Asking the incoming man what the rush was for, She had just gotten home a couple of minutes before Mycroft came and almost slammed the door open. She hadn’t been there to hear the screams and yelling of Sherlock, which probably was a good thing, considering that one’s heart would ache. Mycroft hadn’t answered, ignored her silly questions as he made his way up the stairs, with his umbrella hanging by his side. It was dripping all the way up the staircase, as it was pouring down rain outside.

 

It seemed most likely not like him to be doing such a hurry, and ignoring people, but his baby brother was hurting, and he promised he would be there for him. The man cares about him, more than the detective and the people around Mycroft seemed to notice in his presence. He didn’t let it show.

 

Mycroft stopped for a moment at the last step, not knowing what to expect when entering the room. All he knew, what that John had been out of himself, as he called him. Both the facts that John never calls, especially not Mycroft, and that his voice was shaking, has been enough to make him realize that something was very wrong, and that it was out of John’s reach to the detective. He needed someone who he knew could calm down Sherlock at his worst.

 

Mycroft came back to reality and opened the door, and he was met with a vision he knew he never wanted to see after all the last times.

Sherlock was lying on his side, with his legs tucked up close to his chest. His arms were folded around his torso. The man didn’t even give Mycroft a single glance, as his eyes seemed out of reach. They were distant, not really looking anywhere. His eyes were red and puffed, you could clearly see that he had been crying. It felt like a stab in the heart on the older brother.

The doctor on the other hand, was sitting in his chair observing the detective lying on the couch. His face radiated sadness and sorrow. His eyes were dull, as he looked up when he heard Mycroft enter the room. He didn’t say anything to the man standing in the middle of the middle room.

 

“What happened?” Mycroft asked coolly as he laid down his umbrella. He glanced at Sherlock, to afterwards look at John.

“I don-”

The doctor took a deep breath, scrunching his nose a bit. His voice was very weak and fragile. “I don’t know, I just..” John sighed, he didn’t know what to say, or how to describe what happened, when he still was shaking from the experience. His chest was heavy, and his heart was beating abnormally fast. It was the lack of adrenaline and shock.

 

“He just started shaking, and yelling for someone to stop, make it stop because the person was hurting him I assume. He might have been in his mind palace.. He was _hurting_ , Mycroft”

The government turned his head in a quick motion. John’s voice was cracking, sounding like he was on the verge of tears.

 

Mycroft spared him from saying anymore, as he walked over to his baby brother. He sat down beside him, but Sherlock didn’t seem to observe anything of what was happening. Mycroft looked over at John.

 

“Perhaps you should make some tea, it will calm your nerves, as I can see that you are clutching the armchair.”

John looked confused at first, but he saw that he was in fact clutching the armchair with his own notice. He let go of it immediately so he could stand up. He could that his legs were shaking, but he ignored that.

“Should I make you a cuppa too, as I assume you’re going to stay for a little while?” The doctor asked.

“Yes, please” Mycroft answered without looking at him. John gave a nod, and turned around on his heels to go to the kitchen.

 

Mycroft turned his attention to the vulnerable man lying next to him. “Oh, Sherlock” he said with a sad tone, as he laid his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “What is happening baby brother..”

If Sherlock was in his right mind and aware of his surroundings, Mycroft knew that he didn’t want his comfort, but maybe it was just for Mycroft’s own comfort. He hated seeing his baby brother hurt. He promised to be there for him. He promised to be there for Sherlock, like he did before.

 

So maybe it wasn’t for Sherlock’s comfort, but Mycroft wanted to make the man sure of his presence, and that he was here for him. Sherlock hadn’t responded to the touch of Mycroft’s hand, so he let it stay there.

 

John came into the living room again carrying two cups of tea. He handed the one for Mycroft, and placed himself in his usual seat, that he had moved over to the couch. He took a sip of the tea. Immediately he felt how his nerves calmed down, as Mycroft has said they would.

There was an awkward silence, until that John decided to break it.

 

“I didn’t know that you..”

“Didn’t know what?” Mycroft asked, after taking a sip of his own tea.

“That you, you know.. That you cared so much about him. I mean, you always seem to get on each others nerves, and never really agreeing on things. It’s just different to see you here, sitting by his side.”

 

Mycroft didn’t react to John’s respond, instead he thought about something he said a long time ago. “Dr. Watson, do you remember what I told you, the very first time we met?” Mycroft asked and took another sip. “You mean, the night you bloody _kidnapped_ me? Not quite no.” John wasn’t really honest, he remembered that the government had told him how he cared about the detective.

He, of course, had mistaken Mycroft for being one of Sherlock’s enemies, as Sherlock so would call them himself. He always thought they hated each other, but seeing Mycroft sitting by the side of Sherlock, being here when he is having a hard time, had opened his mind to the fact that Mycroft really cared about his younger brother.

“By the look of your face, I suppose you do remember, but now, let’s forget that.” Mycroft said.

John nodded. “Right”

 

Sherlock moved a bit, and caught both men’s attention. The detective blinked with his eyes, and shook his head so his locks flew around his face. He looked over at John, and his eyes lit up at the face sitting in the chair next to him. He gave a weak smile to the doctor. His whole body felt weak.

 

“What-” The detective started out, as a sudden move by his side caught his attention.

“Mycroft? What are you doing here?” He said coldly and confused. “Checking up on me, are you? Well no need for that, I suppose you can go now, by the fact that I am fine.”

“Actually, I called him.” John broke out, as he saw the sadness of Mycroft’s face, hearing his brother saying those words.

“You called him?”

“Yes I did”

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do such a thing?” He asked, almost spitting the last words out. John sighed.

“Well, because of you.” he said, not mistaken by the sadness in his voice. Sherlock spoke with almost a grin.

“Because of m-”

“Yes, because of you Sherlock. You don’t recall it, do you? How you were shaking, and yelling for it to stop? How you were _writhing in pain_.” Sherlock’s smile faded, as he heard the crack in John’s voice, and saw how his eyes were watering. A sudden cold laid upon Sherlock’s body. He furrowed his eyebrows, and held onto his head, like he had a headache.

 

“I need to um- Mycroft, please go.” He interrupted himself, as he stood up. He felt dizzy, and for a moment he had to gain control over his body. Then he marched out into the bathroom.

“Sherlock!” John called, but the man ignored him, and the doctor turned around to look at Mycroft.

 

“Well, I suppose I should leave” he said, with a weak smile on his lips, trying to hide the fact that it hurt. But John knew better.

Mycroft stood up, and walked over to the door grabbing his umbrella. He opened the door, and took a step out, but stopped midway.

“Dr. Watson.”

“Hm, yes?” John said, and looked at the man.

“Take care of him for me, will you? I trust you to remain by his side. He needs you more now than ever. I believe you are the best for him, to reach him.”

John dazed for a bit, but then ran his hands through his hair. “Yes, of course I’ll stay and take care of him. You know I will.”

Mycroft nodded, and then walked out of the door, leaving John alone with Sherlock again.

 

***

 

“Sherlock?” John asked, as he knocked on the bathroom door. No one answered. “Are you alright? You have been out there for quite a while.”

He couldn’t hear any water running, so he wasn’t taking a bath. Then he heard something being fumbled with, like pills or something similar. He was about to knock again, when the door opened, and Sherlock stumbled out.

 

The detective stopped, and looked down at the man standing so close to him. Nearly touching him, nonetheless by a few inches. Both of the men stopped breathing, as they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Sherlock glared at John admiring his features. Then the doctor looked down at the floor cleared his throat and stepped aside to let Sherlock come through.

 

“You know he just wants you the best” John said, as Sherlock walked into the living room. Sherlock seemed to ignore him, but he wasn’t, it was just hard to face the man. He continued and placed himself in front of the window, looking out upon the rain covering London’s streets. Gently tapping the window. He stood with both of his hands behind his back.

 

John followed the man, and ended up in the same room as him.

“Sherlock, please.. Talk to me.” John begged, almost whispering. His voice broke. John glanced at the man’s back, just watching gracefully as he stood there.

Sherlock lowered his head, and sighed heavily.

 

He turned around and looked at the man watching him. The detective looked so fragile, and tired. John was peering deeply into the man’s eyes, hoping to get through to him, but it was like he was so distant. Like some sort of veil was hiding him away, being here, but not really being here. Physically, but not mentally.

 

John could see how tired Sherlock was, even though he hadn’t really been asleep, but locked away in his mind palace for quite a while, there was bags under his eyes, and he looked pale. His eyes had almost lost color, looking grey. They had no life in them. John obviously wanted to talk about what had happened, when Sherlock had been in his mind palace. But now didn't seem like the right time. Though he looked very fragile, he also seemed very strong and independent, like he always used to. He didn't really have any expression on his face. 

He seemed like himself, but then again he didn't. There was no doubt in that Sherlock had experienced something not likely him, when being locked away in his Mind palace. He didn't seem like himself at that point. But then again, neither did John when he had Night Terrors. 

It hadn't been the first time that Sherlock had been away in his mind palace, coming back with a different expression than the Sherlock everybody knew. Sometimes he would seem odd, not really talking for days, and being distant after being there. But he always fell back into his own self. But the way he had reacted this time, had been very different. John had never seen him shake like that before, yelling out in agony. The distant look in his eyes had terrified him. He was obviously still in his mind palace, trying to make his way back into the reality. No doubt in that. 

Something was happening inside the mind of Sherlock, and John was determined to find out what. 

 

Sherlock took a sharp breath. His legs were shaking, due to lack of sleep and nutrient. He could feel how his hands were shaking too. His head was pounding, and his heart was beating fast, to the point where his chest was hurting.

“John, I-I..”

John walked over to Sherlock, shaking his head. He took Sherlock’s hand, and looked him deep in the eyes. “You need to sleep, Sherlock” John said, and the detective’s body froze. He gazing at the man in front him. 

They were standing so close to one another. Sherlock could almost feel the warmth of the body standing right in front him. His eyes were intriguing, peering into the ocean blue one's of John's. Both of them had stopped breathing, without their own notice of further permission. None of them were moving. Sherlock could feel how the hand holding on to his weakened, afterwards constricting it, touching his skin, making their hands perspiring in the outcome of John's fairly noticeable action. He could feel it. Feel how John's pulse was taken, not thinking much about it. 

John's eyes were sparkling, shining in the light on the setting sun. John opened his mouth slightly, wanting to say something, anything, but chose not to. Instead he let out a warm breath, touching the face of Sherlock's. For how long were they standing like this? Seconds, Minutes? It seemed unmeasurable at the moment. 

Sherlock took a sharp breath.

"Yes. I think you're quite right." he said under his breath, not looking away at a single moment. Sherlock lowered his eyes, and stepped away from the man, simply walking away into the bedroom of his. John stood back, unable to move, otherwise than his eyes following the leaving man, disappearing from his sight when stepping into his room. He heard how the door was closed, and went upstairs himself. 

He didn't know what had just happened, but he knew that he was exhausted, almost to the point where he feared he would pass out from the exhaustion. He closed his eyes, not thinking anymore about it. 

 

 


End file.
